


No Returns, No Exchanges

by Casandravus



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, I suppose we can have just as much fun exploring the complex realm of interpersonal relationships, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casandravus/pseuds/Casandravus
Summary: "You are born into your family, and your family is born into you. No returns. No exchanges." - Elizabeth BergA collection of moments when members of Clan McDuck strive to bridge the gaps in how they see each other, and how they're seen.
Relationships: Bentina Beakley & Webby Vanderquack, Della Duck & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Lena & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Lena (Disney: DuckTales) & Violet Sabrewing & Webby Vanderquack, Scrooge McDuck & Everyone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	No Returns, No Exchanges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tears_Scars_and_Heartstrings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tears_Scars_and_Heartstrings/gifts).



Today was a day of straight-up  _ laziness _ in McDuck Manor. Webby and Della were teaching each other adventuring and spy tricks. The boys were watching  _ Ottoman Empire _ and drinking copious amounts of Pep. Beakley and Launchpad were out doing their own thing. Donald was on the houseboat. Scrooge sat in his office, trying to do paperwork but unable to focus.  He  _ still _ hadn’t had a proper talk with Donald about the rift he’d caused by building the Spear. Maybe today was finally the day. He clutched the fabric of his jacket over his racing heart. His throat felt dry. He shook his head and took a breath. What was wrong with him? He was  _ Scrooge McDuck _ ! He’d faced down gods on Ithaquack, defeated Magica de Spell -  _ twice _ ! - and helped stop an alien invasion! What was a conversation compared to all that?    
  
... _ Frightening _ , that’s what.    
  
If Scrooge mistepped, he might lose his oldest nephew  _ again _ . He didn’t think Della would let Donald take the boys from the mansion - that would be a  _ hellacious _ fight - but he was pretty sure that Donald himself would leave, at least for a little while. The stakes were too high for him to mess this up. With his mind refusing to work the day’s financials, he slammed his pen down and walked away.    
  
Donald was rearranging pictures on the houseboat when his uncle opened the door. “Oh! Hi, Uncle - ”   
  
“I’m sorry.”    
  
Donald almost dropped the picture he was holding. “ _What_?”   
  
Scrooge swallowed audibly, knuckles tightening around his cane. “I’m sorry. For going behind your back, building the Spear… Not reaching out before you dropped the boys off that first day… Insulting you when you got here, then lying to you about where we were… What happened at that gambling place in Macaw... All the times I’ve hurt your feelings with thoughtless comments… I’m sorry, Donald.”   
  
The sailor stepped back, putting the picture down. “Would you like to come in?”   
  
Once they both got comfortable, Scrooge pushed on. “It’s been close to eleven years, Donald, and I haven’t had the chance to just sit with you since you first came back. Since today’s an off day, I figured I’d come by and apologize. It’s the  _ least _ you deserve, especially with how well you’ve raised the boys.”

Donald closed his eyes to hide how they burned. He’d never expected  _ Scrooge _ to be the one to give him the acknowledgement he’d craved since taking the boys. After a few moments, he put his head in his hands and breathed deep. It was too much for him to open his eyes, let alone look at the man sitting next to him. Why would he say all of this after so long? Where was the other shoe that was bound to drop?    
  
“Oh,  _ mo mhuir _ ,” Scrooge whispered.    
  
The Gaelic name of Donald’s childhood broke what composure he had left. The dam he’d built against his love for Scrooge burst, and he sobbed. Some time passed before he was able to speak again. “I hate when we argue. I always have,” his voice shook.   
  
Scrooge wrapped an arm around Donald’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Me too, lad.”   
  
Donald took the comfort seeping into him, and eventually fell asleep. In his mind’s eye, Scrooge saw the six-year-old duckling who pushed down his own feelings to support his twin at their parents’ funeral. 

The eight-year-old who stared into a music shop window with such  _ passion _ that Scrooge bought the guitar on sight.

The twelve-year-old who’d gotten into _another_ fight at school, sporting a shiner and a sheepish grin when he said he’d won. 

The seventeen-year-old who broke his leg making sure that his cousins wouldn’t be separated on a harrowing adventure. 

The twenty-four-year-old who left a mansion with only a pram, three eggs, and what he could fit in a backpack.

Finally, he saw the thirty-six-year-old who -

  
Gentle arms squeezed Scrooge around the waist. Donald muttered something in Scots Gaelic, his voice slurred by sleep. Scrooge rubbed his nephew’s hair and leaned back, heart finally loosening after so many years being constricted by silence.    



End file.
